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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830363">The Masked Man's Puppet Show.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FXCF/pseuds/FXCF'>FXCF</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), BAMF Charlie Magne, Cannon-A-typical violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Finnegan F. Swan (OC) is not ok, First chapter is entirely torture and lore, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, How Do I Tag, M/M, Multi, No seriously Help, OC is in Hell for a reason, That reason is stupid but that is spoilorish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:28:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,249</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FXCF/pseuds/FXCF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Finnegan F. Swan had his entire life laid out for him before he was born, albeit a bit short.. His soul was to be sold to a demon, an overlord of hell, so that his mother’s owners could gain immortality. Unfortunately for them, the demon they summoned turned them into a mere collection of pebbles on a mountain side, while still taking his soul. He was damned to hell from the start, but at least he could live.</p>
<p>As he grew older, he realized that the scum of this world were not like the monsters in his books. They were everywhere, always looking for the weak link to bite at.</p>
<p>He knew he was damned, so he decided to do something about it. Not as Finnegan, but as The Missouri Massacarist.</p>
<p>After all, if you are condemned to an eternity in Hell, why not go down a legend?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Male Character(s), Charlie Magne/Vaggie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Why Henroin is in Hell.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Me, three weeks ago: Wow this Hazbin Hotel thing is pretty good. Why did I listen to YouTubers who shat on this thing? Plus the fandom is so creative!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Me, three minutes ago: I have made a nearly four page chapter that entirely focuses around a fancy country boy torturing a shity Italian father who does not deserve his skin.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Blame Youtube recommendations for this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>A soft grunt left Henry’s lips as he woke up, a banging headache bouncing around his skull. In the moments after, he realized many things. One, he was at home, in the room that his failure of a son used to live in before he OD’ed, tied to the very same chair. Two, his thumbs were missing, with two small pylons attached to a car battery on the table in front of him. Three, he was not alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting in the chair in front of him, was a man who looked young, with pale white skin, paper white hair that was slicked back over his head, a black mask hiding his face from view. He sported a form fitting purple dress vest, stained with dried blood, and a white dress shirt under that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wrapped around his neck was one of those stupid little napkins that fancy brits usually wore, the ones that were ruffled. Also around his neck was a small pendant, a dark blue stone kept in the middle of two gold triangles, one pointing up, one pointing down, pinned to the middle of the neck-tie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lazily threw his leg over the other, ruffling his leather pants, tucked into his knee high boots, held together with a simply unholy amount of duct tape, with the same double triangle pendant attached to the top of the boot’s entrance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His leather glove dressed hands clasped together, and Henry could feel the smile grow under his mask.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Finally awake, Mister Ragno?” The man asked, his voice sharp and firm, dressed with a slight accent that Henry unfortunately has become accustomed to. He had moved to Missouri in order to escape the cops in New York. The man stood up, giving Henry a courteous bow. “I’m sure you would have researched about the big boss of Missouri, wouldn’t you have?” He pointlessly asked. His head bent to the side like a curious dog. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Right?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He growled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Henry tried to say something, only to take notice of the leather gag in his mouth, shutting him up. The man glared.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I might as well introduce myself. Name’s Finnegan F. Swan, but you might know me as the Missouri Massacarist.” He introduced himself properly. Henry tried to wriggle his way out of the ropes tying him down, but no avail. Swan picked up a controller from the table next to him, plugged into the car battery. The only thing on it was a big red button, which he pressed. Suddenly, Henry’s body was filled with electricity, starting from his hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See, I kinda have a M.O. that I’m known for. I kill people like you, the real scum.” He let go of the button, tossing it back onto the table, grabbing Henry by the chin, lifting his face up to his. Now, Henry could see his eyes. They were wrong, in a few ways. They started off with a gold ring, then a purple ring, then a white ring, then finally the pupil. They glowed with an unnatural light, and just looking at them made his stomach turn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe that’s the electricity, who knows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, tell me Henry, can I call you Henry? Ah, course’ I can.” Finnegan walked behind Henry, picking something up, and Henry suddenly took notice of two very sharp machetes now pressed flat against his neck. “See, you are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad man. Let’s see,” The machetes were removed, and Henry finally felt safe enough to breathe, but that was taken away as Finnegan walked in front of him again, this time pressing the blunt edge into his neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“First, you are a fucking asshole. Not only did you openly denounce New York’s attempts at basic human resources for women suffering in the workforce, you also tried to influence a poll that would have put the barbaric practice of Lobotomy back in place. Trust me, it helps not.” He moved the machete to his eye, carefully tapping his brow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, let's move onto your familial sins. You oldest son, Ark, was sent in your steed to a drug deal, where cops broke in and filled him with bullets. He was only twenty three years old. Then, there was your son Anthony, who overdosed on </span>
  <span>Phenylcyclohexyl Pyrimidine, better known as Angel Dust. You watched as he choked on his own vomit and spit, looked him dead in the eyes and let him die, right in this chair.” Finnegan’s voice no longer had the smile it had a few moments ago. He whipped the blade away, running a finger over it. He turned away, revealing the pair of holsters on his back, one for a pair of pistols and one for his machetes, with one already slotted in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then there was just little ol’ Molly, who’s now a splatter across the freeway, right in front of the building you forced her to work at day in, day out. I hear that they are still finding bits and pieces of her here and there.” His boots clicked and clacked as he waltzed about, passing the blade from hand to hand. He finally came to a stop, slamming the heels of his boots together. He reared the blade back, and Henry found his right hand separated from his arm. He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a muffled and gargled groan.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You are the epitome of scum, and just having the knowledge that people just up and let you be because you paid them to, makes me want to vomit. But, I gave up eating weeks ago. Foods just so bland now, y’know?” He fell back into his chair, running a nail across the bloodied blade. Henry tried to say something, anything, hell even a mumbled curse would be pleasant, but Finnegan just rolled his eyes and brought his legs up, laying across the chair’s arms, heel firmly placed on the remote controller's sole button.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Off and on again, the electricity went, until Henry felt like he was passing out. A sudden slap brought him back, and the sudden sting of a needle into his neck made his skin screech.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This little nasty concoction is a little bit of everything I had on hand. A bit of PCP, a little bit of Molly, hell, some Coke for shits and giggles!” Finnegan came back into focus, the eyes barely visible though his mask bent upwards. He was smiling at his suffering. He raised his machete and let it fall, cutting through the skin and bone of Henry’s elbow. His arm fell lazily, and pain flared though his entire being.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See, it’s more of a pain enhancer, made to make everything feel so much more than it is. What your feeling is the same feeling as Molly felt when she went </span>
  <em>
    <span>splat</span>
  </em>
  <span>, your entire body’s nervous system going apeshit crazy, unable to tell if its hurt, on fire, being shocked, or being poisoned, so it’s setting off every single klaxon siren it has on hand.” Finnegan grabbed Henry’s face, pulling him forward. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Now suffer as they had.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He growled, raising his blade again, dropping it again, over and over and over again. Limb after limb, gone and gone and gone. Stab after stab, blood painted the floor, and Finnegan’s clothes, but he did not slow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon, Henry’s head was chopped clean off, where Finnegan grabbed it before it could fall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you know that the brain stays active for at least fifteen to twenty seconds after decapitation?” Henry could hear him say, before the blade made its home in his forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finnegan finally stopped, taking the moment to breathe. But, action must never stop. He reached into a small box next to his chair and pulled out a fat spool of wire, a sewing needle, and thin but durable metal pipes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His last kill would be his greatest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>For context,</em>
  <em> Ark (who becomes Arackniss) was shot and killed in a police raid Henry (Soon to be Henroin) called on, Anthony (Soon To Be Angel Dust) OD's on PCP, and drowns in his spit and vomit, and Molly (Who becomes, creatively, Molly) Killed herself by jumping off of a clothes shop she labored away at.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Divine Damnation.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Charlie and Co. meet the Radio Demon, and a unexpected factor.<br/>A demon made of strings, with a slight smile and eyes of gold amethyst.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Of all the people Charlie Magne was expecting behind the Hotel’s doors, the Radio Demon himself was not on the list. She quickly shut the door in a panic, rudely cutting him off from his polite hello. She opened the door again, just to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, only for reality to confirm the fact that, yes, Alastor, one of the most terrifying demons in existence, was standing in front of her hotel. She closed the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, Vaggie..?” She hesitantly called her girlfriend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah? Who was at the door?” Vaggie called from the couch that had yet to be fully pushed against the wall. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, the radio demon himself?” She bit her lip, hesitantly pointing to the door with a forced smile. Vaggie fell off the couch, a terrified look on her face, pointedly ignoring Angel’s question of ‘who?’.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“WHAT?!” She quickly rushed to the door alongside Charlie, slapping the lock shut. Or, well, would’ve if the door had a working lock.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What should we do?!” Charlie panicked. Angel Dust, the sole patient in the Hotel so far, lazily looked over the couch, pink Popsicle lazily hanging from his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, don’t let him in for one!” Vaggie sternly ordered, looking around for something to block the door. “Angel, move your ass, I need to move the couch!” Angel just stuck his tongue out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie looked back to the door. The day so far had been an absolute bitch to her. Honestly, dealing with the Radio Demon would not be that bad compared to the rest of the shit she had dealt with today. She turned around and firmly grabbed a hold of the handle, opening the door with a set in stone frown. Alastor’s smile was still firm, but his eyelids were now a bit lower, the glow that was there before now a bit more dull.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>May I speak now?</b>
  <span>” He asked. Knowing him, he probably would have done so with or without Charlie’s permission.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You may.” Charlie said, only for the last syllable to be cut off with Alastor’s enthusiastic attitude.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>Name’s Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart! Quite a pleasure!</b>
  <span>” He walked into the Hotel like he owned the place, no one noticing his shadow detached itself and wandered into a corner, an inconspicuous featureless black mask forming from the dark. “</span>
  <b>Sorry for the sudden visit, but I saw your fiasco on the Picture Show, and I couldn’t resist a visit!</b>
  <span>” He threw up a hand </span>
  <em>
    <span>(Which, knowing his cannibalistic tendencies, could very well be a two sided sentence)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, bending his head a bit. “</span>
  <b>What a performance! Why, I haven’t been that entertained since the Stock Market Crash of 1929!</b>
  <span>” He let out a short chortle, “</span>
  <b>So many orphans…</b>
  <span>” The last bit was slightly less upbeat, probably because of the sudden interruption from Vaggie’s Angelic Spear being thrust to his neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Cabrón hijo de perra!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I know your game, freak, and I’m not going to let you hurt anyone here, you pompous, cheesy, daft, show shitlord!” Vaggie growled, spear primed to turn Alastor to a pile of holes. Alastor’s smile widened, and he carefully pushed the blade away from his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>Dear, If I wanted to hurt anyone here,</b>
  <span>” The room darkened, blood red symbols that the members of the Hotel could only guess to be voodoo related started to bounce around. Alastor’s eyes became like radio dials and his mouth became solid, teeth glowing like an old radio’s backdrop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>Ĩ̸̟̦̖̿͐̇ ̷͖͇̖͛́͘Ẉ̶͎͂͑̑o̷̺̦̟̗̓̏̊ṵ̴̮̥̍̿ľ̵͕͚͇͍͈̆ḓ̷̘̬̺̦̒̉̾̕ ̷̡̰̙̖̫̐̔H̸̢̖͚̰̓͛a̴͉̜͛̏v̶̦̅̽ḙ̶͎̮̘̋̋̋͛ ̶̢̙̻̣̠̿̑D̷̗͒͜o̵̻͓͕̐̕͜n̴̛̜̞̟͙͗͑̍e̷̛̺̣̥̪̅̐͒͝ ̵̧̬̟̺̌̎̈́͘ͅŠ̷̞̀̓̕ö̵̝̫̝́̑.̷͍̘̝̝͎̾̄͝</em>
  </b>
  <span>” Distorted laughter bounced across the room as Alastor’s head and body bent, allowing even more dark energies to flow from his soul. Small glimpses of his full demon form could be seen behind the sudden veil of red static.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, it all stopped as a black leather boot bounced off of Alastor’s head, making his smile become small and lopsided, along with his eyes returning to normal.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alastor, If you are going to offer them help, the least you could do is not scare them before offering it. Dipshit.” A sharp, vaguely country sounding voice came from behind them, and Alastor’s eyes thinned, his smile, while visibly not wavering, became forced in a sense.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>Strings.</b>
  <span>” Alastor grumbled. The man behind them sat on the couch, right next to Angel, who passed him a purple Popsicle, who he gave a small smile for. This, Strings, was a humanoid demon wearing a red dress shirt, dark purple dress vest with star shaped buttons, a black scarf that wrapped over his neck, with a gold pentagram with a planchette in the middle, with a purple gem where the glass peephole would be. Slightly melding with the mask was a head of albino white hair, swept back, and curling at the edges.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His face was covered with a black mask, with gold tear tracks going down and up the right eye, the same on the left but with purple instead of gold. The mask seemed to bend and morph to form expressions, kind of like an animation. Completely flat, no lips or eyelids, and only visible when he opens his mouth or eyes, revealing a surprisingly normal inside, though all of his teeth were noticeably sharper than a normal human, and all being pearly white. The rest of the inside of his mouth was pitch black, including his tongue, which was long and pointed. Well, his mouth was normal. His eyes were a dark red, with a gold ring surrounding a purple ring, then the pupil. It glowed with an unnatural presence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His hands were dressed with black leather gloves, with white wrist cuffs. His pants were the most basic of his clothes, being black leather, tucked into a pair of black thigh high boots with the same pentagram clasp on his scarf pinning the flaps together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Or, well, a boot. The entirety of his lower right leg was missing, revealing a mass of strings. The boot that had hit Alastor fell apart into millions of strings, worming their way back to him and forming back into his leg.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>So that's where the name came from.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Charlie absentmindedly pondered. Alastor glared even more. “</span>
  <b>Don’t you need </b>
  <b>
    <em>organs</em>
  </b>
  <b> to eat?</b>
  <span>” Strings smirked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Hope you don’t mind.” He bit down on the Popsicle, lapping at the small drippings that went down his lip. Alastor looked confused for a moment, before slapping at his gut. A wet splat was the result, along with a small splatter of blood. Alastor glared.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>Seriously.</em>
  </b>
  <span>” It really wasn’t a question, more of an exasperated sigh in the form of a word. Strings laughed and reached into his side, which unfurled to reveal a stomach that most definitely was not made of string, grabbed it, then threw it to Alastor. He caught it with one hand, quickly turning around. The sound of tearing flesh and squishing and squashing followed, before Alastor turned back around, surprisingly without a drop of blood on him. “</span>
  <b>When did you even find the time to steal that?</b>
  <span>” Strings shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool. So, who's the strawberry pimp?” Angel piped up. Strings laughed, Vaggie paled, Charlie choked on her own spit, and Alastor glared even harder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank god I’m not the only one who thinks that. I mean, he owns souls like a pimp owns hoes. Only difference is that he can be beat by saying the word Penis.” Strings chuckled. Alastor’s glare became laser beam deadly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie and Vaggie looked lost and confused, looking in between the two demons. Vaggie was completely lost on how this demon, who looked ready to go to a fucking ball, was getting away with insulting one of the most feared Overlords in Hell, while Charlie was still caught on the fact that Alastor wanted to help them. Alastor’s smiled returned to it’s default state of ‘way to fucking wide’ and turned to the girls again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>Well, as my, </b>
  <b><em>compadre</em> said, I wish to extend a hand in helping you with this worthless endeavor!</b>
  <span>” Alastor announced, his showmen like charm returning. Vaggie’s glare returned and she held her spear up again, this time pointing it at both Strings and Alastor, switching between the two.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And why the Hell would we trust you? You bring nothing but suffering and demise everywhere you go!” She growled, pointedly ignoring Charlies mumbled ‘what’. Angel leaned over the couch and fell into Strings lap, where he just easily lifted the spider demon into a sitting position next to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t see the fuss goin’ on here. This guy a big shot or sumtin’?” He asked, lazily leaning onto Strings’s shoulder. It was an awkward view, considering Strings was probably about 5’8 at best, so Angel was less leaning </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span> him and more leaning </span>
  <em>
    <span>over</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. Strings raised a (Metaphorical) brow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You seriously don’t know him?” He asked, looking up at Angel the best he could with his back on top of his head. Vaggie gave Angel a confused look.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The Radio Demon? The most feared overlord in Hell? A demon who, decades ago, killed dozens of overlords that had been in rule for centuries, in one night, entirely as a mortal sinner?!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Angel raised a finger to his mouth, thinking, before shaking his head. “Nah, never heard of him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vaggie’s dumbfounded look deepened, though it was cut out after Charlie shook her shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, we can worry about Angel’s lack of knowledge later, can we go back to the part where you wanted to help?” She turned back to Alastor. He brushed his coat off, regained his stance, and held his hands out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>You see, I saw the disaster you called an advertisement on the Picture Show, and wanted to extend a hand in making sure that this little plan survives! This little hotel has the potential to give me unlimited amounts of entertainment!</b>
  <span>” He declared. Strings stood up, dropping Angel onto the couch with a grunt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What he’s saying is that he thinks your plan is stupid, but not like, the stupid that makes you want to fade from reality, but the stupid that makes you laugh and keep watching. All he wants in his Post-Life existence is entertainment.” He pushed Vaggie’s spear away from him. “And he thinks that helping this hotel will get him that entertainment.” He stood next to Charlie. “Now, I can safely say he doesn’t believe in your cause. It is a bit foolish and a hell of a pipe dream,” Charlie’s face fell, but a confused look came to her face when Strings reached into his side and pulled out a book. He handed it over to her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>DANTE’S DIVINE COMEDY.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>       THE INFERNO.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie looked to Strings, confusion evident. He smiled, a smile that was entirely opposite to Alastor’s. His smile was small and warm, with his eyes tugging upwards at the edges.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If Dante could be redeemed for his sins after his death and pass onto eternity, then who says other demons can’t as well?”</span>
</p>
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